


the stories the stars tell

by remy (iamremy)



Series: askbox prompts (multifandom) [19]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Post-Canon, Stargazing, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 23:03:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20714012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/pseuds/remy
Summary: szamanita asked:Jonmund 47!Prompt is "stars". Jon and Tormund watch the night sky.





	the stories the stars tell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Louhetar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Louhetar/gifts).

“Do you believe in the stars, little crow?” Tormund asks, keeping his eyes on the sky above them.

“What do you mean?” Jon laughs, turning his head to look at Tormund. “Of course I believe in them, they’re right there!”

“Not what I meant,” Tormund says.

“What did you mean, then?”

They’re lying on their backs out in the cold night air, sharing a thick fur spread out on the ground. It’s their only protection against the elements, but the North isn’t as cold as it used to be during the winter, and Jon thinks he’ll be fine as long as they don’t stay out too long.

“I meant the stories they tell,” Tormund answers.

“Stars tell stories?”

“Everything tells a story, if you care enough to listen,” Tormund tells him. “The earth, the air, the sky, these trees… _everything_.”

“And what stories do the stars tell?” Jon asks, shifting closer to Tormund. He’s beginning to shiver a little, and Tormund is solid and warm, and completely unaffected by the cold. Jon should be too, he thinks morosely, considering he grew up in Winterfell – but even that pales in comparison to the real North.

“They tell us of our history,” Tormund says. He shifts a little to accommodate Jon, arm moving against Jon’s as he searches for his hand. He finds it eventually, and Jon laces their fingers together. “And of our present,” Tormund continues. His voice is lower, more serious than Jon’s used to hearing. “And of our future.”

Jon follows his gaze, tries to see what he’s seeing. The night sky is beautiful, as it always is – diamonds and velvet, and the moon large and heavy, bathing everything in silver. But that’s all it is, he thinks. That’s all he sees. No matter how long he stares at the stars for, he is unable to divine some deeper meaning, or see anything out of the ordinary. It’s the same night sky he’s been looking at since he was a child.

Next to him, Tormund chuckles, a lovely rich sound. “You’re not going to find anything, looking like that.”

“Tell me how, then,” Jon demands. “Or show me.”

Tormund laughs again, and raises their joined hands. He points at something in the sky without letting go of Jon’s hand, and says, “Look there. What do you see?”

Jon looks. And looks. Then he looks some more. “Stars,” he says in the end, feeling a little dumb and not liking it at all.

“Aye,” Tormund says patiently, though the hint of laughter to his tone hasn’t gone away. “Look closer. What does it look like to you?”

Jon squints. “Tormund, honestly, I can’t see anything– _oh_. Oh, wait, wait, I think I see…” He narrows his eyes further. “It looks a little like a bear, I think? Or is that just me?”

“It _is _a bear,” Tormund tells him, sounding impressed. “Very good, little crow. And next to it, a cub. Do you see?”

Now that Jon knows what to look for, it’s a little bit easier. “Yes.”

Tormund hums, pleased, and then points at something else. “And that over there. A warrior. Do you see the bow and arrow?”

Jon nods, not risking opening his mouth to speak; his teeth are chattering a little now. Tormund notices, and shuffles closer, allowing Jon to all but burrow into his side, leeching as much warmth off him as he can.

“There’s more,” Tormund tells him. “So many more. And that’s not all there is to it. If you’ve got the gift for it, you can see so much more than what you do right now.”

“Do you?” Jon asks, voice muffled due to his face being half-pressed into Tormund’s furs. “Have the gift for it, I mean.”

“My mother used to,” Tormund answers, taking Jon’s hand again. For a moment Jon thinks Tormund will show him more stars, but instead Tormund just lets their joined hands lie on his belly, rising and falling with each steady breath. “My sister, too,” Tormund adds.

“I didn’t know you had a sister,” Jon says, surprised. “What happened to them?”

“Wights,” Tormund answers shortly. “Long before I ever met you. Long before I even met Mance.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon says quietly.

“What for?” Tormund asks rhetorically.

Jon doesn’t know what to answer to that, so he remains quiet.

Tormund sucks in a breath, and then says, “It died with them, the gift. There were more people like them, but too many died in the wars. I don’t know if there are any left.”

“I suppose we’ll find them, if there are,” Jon muses quietly.

“Perhaps,” is all Tormund says. “It don’t matter anymore, though. After everything that’s happened, I think I’m perfectly fucking fine not knowing the future.”

Jon thinks about that. “Yes,” is all he says, in the end. “I suppose. It’s not as if knowing the future ever really makes it better.”

Tormund makes a sound of agreement. “Better to do what we can with what we have,” he says. “That way it feels…”

“Realer,” completes Jon.

“Realer,” agrees Tormund, and gives Jon a soft smile that Jon returns immediately.

They both turn their heads back up, returning their gazes to the night sky, and Jon finds himself wondering what these stars say about him, about his past, present, and future. If he’d known, years ago, what he would do, what he would become, would it have made any difference? Changed anything at all in his life? Would he still be who he is now?

Then Jon realizes that Tormund is right; it does not matter. He is who he is, and he’s come to terms with the actions of his past a long time ago. All that’s left for him now is the future, whatever it holds. And if the stars say something different?

Well, then he’ll just have to rewrite them.


End file.
